Unremembered
by Oparu
Summary: While working in the rainforest, Helen suffers a relapse of an old case of malaria. Will looks after her while Tesla, Henry and Kate find a cure. Helen/Will.


Henry's the first one to say anything. He pauses next to Will, looking out over the ruined beach. He hates floods because they smell. It stinks of rot and death to Will, and he doesn't have anything near Henry's nose. It must be awful for him.

"Have you talked to Magnus?"

Will munches his lunch: some kind of chicken with lentils. For some reason, the Sanctuary network has their own type of MREs, and each kit includes a tea bag. The coffee's dreadful; maybe he can change their supplier. He pauses and turns from the mess of rubble and debris on the beach to Henry.

"This morning."

Henry nods absently. "You should check in."

"Oh?"

Reaching over to take Will's chocolate, Henry nods. "Yeah."

He's gone before Will can do anything more than lament the loss of his chocolate and wonder what he was getting at.

* * *

It's a busy afternoon, hundreds of abnormals have been displaced by flooding and they need to be resettled as quickly and quietly as possible. Thousands of humans are in pretty rough straits as well, but Will's most dealing with shell-shocked abnormals. Even the partially sentient ones as jumpy. He never thought he'd be counselling a flying snake, but here he is, sitting in South America, trying to calm a quezacotl.

Kate brings him dinner. He knew it was dark, but the quezacotl wanted him to see his nest and he's been out in the woods for awhile.

She tilts her head, smirking at the beads around his neck. "Those are festive."

"What?" Wil's much more interested in the five bean chili promised by his packet, and tears the foil.

Kate passes him hot water, letting him mix it up while she examines his necklace.

"How made you the Peruvian bling?"

"Two of the children I met this morning."

"Oh, the monkey babies."

"I think they're _Pan septiforma."_ He shrugs and grins at her. "They were cute."

"So cute." She loiters, sitting next to him while she tosses bits of bark idly into the dark forest around them.

"How was your day?"

Will's words are half-lost as he tries to eat, but Kate makes it out.

"You know, built some tree houses, had my hair pulled by giant flying tree slugs."

"Round-bodied miticarines."

"They look like slugs, they slime like slugs, they're slugs."

Will would argue but he'd rather eat. He swallows so he can do some semblance of both.

"Seen Magnus?"

"In the percolator." Kate frowns and points towards the tent Magnus has been using as a lab. "Been there all day. Even let the Big Guy and me build treehouses without her architectural approval."

Nodding, Will gulps down more of his dinner. He has reports to do, but the nagging back of the mind idea that he needs to check on his boss insists he take a break for that. He'll be up far into the darkness, and when the sun comes up at six, he'll need to drink a lot of that terrible coffee. This is typical, but he's missing the coffee in the Sanctuary. Maybe, if the stars are perfectly aligned, Tesla will bring some when he arrives to assist Magnus' research into some fascinating bacteria with magnetic properties.

Clinging to that, he reaches for his vacuum packed sponge cake and groans. Kate took it.

* * *

He's washed, as clean as one gets out here along the Amazon, and Will's just about to check the percolator when Tesla finds him. (Kate's term seems more accurate than Magnus' preferred title of the 'portable extreme conditions research laboratory' or the PECRL. PECRL sounds just odd enough to make him smirk and the tent is hot and stuffy.)

"Hello vassal."

He could argue, but demeaning him amuses Tesla too much, and that which amuses Tesla tends to stick around.

Tesla leans against a tree, apparently without coffee and Will's heart sinks. It was a forlorn hope, but he held on to it.

"I have a job for you."

"I have a job."

Tesla smirks. "Then I have discovered a task of your position to which I would like you to employ your skills." He drawls the last word.

Will's too tired to do anything but smile. "I'm yours."

"You wish." Tesla pushes off the tree and gestures towards the lab. "Distract her."

"I'm sorry?"

"Distract Magnus. I want to work in peace, she's puttering around."

Will doubts he's ever seen Magnus putter, but he's willing to allow for it. "How long?"

"Preferably all night. I still work better in the dark, but-" He waves his hand dismissively and eyes Will. "I'll take what I can get. Even an hour would be blissful."

"I'll make my report."

Tesla's teeth flash white when he smiles. "Excellent. Run along."

Thus dismissed, Will hangs his towel over one of the lines and ducks into the percolator. Magnus is standing by one of the work benches, rubbing her hip. He watches her longer than he should, trying to place the gesture. Perhaps she hurt herself yesterday, when they checked the caves for stranded Abnormals.

"Hey."

"Will." Magnus turns her head slowly, smiling though she furrows her forehead. "Forgive me. I didn't hear you approach."

"Noisy jungle."

"Indeed."

"I'm about done with my report. You're right, the quezacotl are expressive communicators when they want to be. I think I could get used to flying tail-based sign language."

Her smile brightens, but the lines in her forehead remain visible.

"Headache?"

She nods curtly. "I also seem to have overexerted my hip."

"Those caves were pretty intense."

"Are you suggesting my spelunking might not be up to par?"

He loves that little quirk of her lips. It's not really a smile, but it always makes his grin.

"I'm admitting that mine definitely is not. I might need to mulligan."

Magnus studies him, as if his golf metaphor has fallen flat. Maybe he used it wrong? His knowledge of golf is limited to Wii golf with Henry and it's possible-

"We're done with the caves Will."

He grins. "Good."

He's also not a failure at golf-based banter.

Magnus shivers, which is distinctly odd in the warm jungle air. It's more than a simple involuntary quiver, she actually appears to be cold.

"You all right?"

For a split second, she wants to lie to him. He can see the shifting in the small muscles of her face.

"I seem to have found the only cold place in the Amazon."

He gestures towards the sleeping tents. "I have a jacket."

It's a stupid suggestion, Magnus has clothes too, but she seems to appreciate it.

"You have a report for me."

"When don't I have a report for you?"

She laughs wearily. "You may have a point."

"Can we sit by the fire?" He makes it about him instead of her. "I like watching the sparks, and fire smells better than post-flood jungles and mud."

"I have often though you might have a poet's soul in there somewhere, Will."

He shrugs, but grins at the compliment.

"A poet's soul, a playwright's last will and testament. I'm into dead artists."

"Only way to become famous."

She sinks down to the log by the fire next to him and winces again, this time hissing a little.

"Joints?"

"Must be getting old."

He can't comment on that either way, so he looks into the fire and starts giving his report. For awhile, he's sure she listening. She even smiles a little when he goes on far too long about how much he enjoyed the quezacotl. They're not a verbal species, but their methods of communication are fascinating. He could probably ramble on all night, but Magnus' shirt is damp with sweat.

Touching her arm, he forces her to turn her head and look at him. There's sweat running down her face, and sure, it's a warm night, but she's sweating like she's in the steam baths.

"Magnus?"

She almost jokes with him, but the confusion in her eyes chases the impulse away.

"I must have been exposed to something."

"I'll have Tesla do a blood test."

He stands, lowering both of his hands to her. When she doesn't move, he reaches for her chest, just beneath the arms on either side. He'd rather not lift her to her feet, but he may have to.

Magnus grabs his arms, but there's more urgency in her grasp than the situation requires.

"You should do it."

"Tesla's better with-"

Magnus shakes her head. "I may be contagious."

And she's touched him. She probably hasn't touched Tesla, or been close to Henry or Kate. Will, on the other hand, is compounding his exposure by the minute. Great. Well done, William.

"Let's get you to bed, then worry about that."

She hangs on to him for support. He's a good deal stronger now than when he came, and it's most likely more of a psychology shock than anything. Magnus has a death grip on his arm.

"Diaphoresis and a lack of internal temperature regulation could be a plasmodium infection."

Of course, she'll come up with her own diagnosis before he even gets her to bed.

"But we take anti-malarials." Will smiles, teasing her. "Unless you forgot."

"I would never be so careless."

He knew that, but he likes seeing that indignant look. "Okay, are there other species of plasmodium that could be resistant to the anti-malarial drugs we've been taking."

"Not that I know of."

Her shirt is soaked through, and his hands are damp when he rolls up her sleeve. In the lantern light of her tent, her skin is pale, not flushed as he'd expect.

"Not that you know of isn't no."

"Correct." Magnus swallows, dropping her head into her hands. "I should have guessed. Headache, arthralgia, lack of tolerance for changes in temperature."

"How long have you had a headache?"

She digs her fingers into her forehead, closing her eyes. "A day, perhaps two."

"You know the kind of trouble I'd be in for ignoring a headache for two days?"

Magnus bats him away. "I require a blood test."

"Stay."

"Yes Will."

The agreement borders on the patronising, but she remains on her cot. He'll probably have to assist with her boots, maybe even the rest of her clothing. Will spends a moment missing Ashley before he ducks into the lab.

"Is it malaria?" Tesla asks without looking up from his microscope.

He should have guessed. Everyone but him seemed to know something about Magnus, and of course, Tesla would already have it determined.

"Possibly."

"She has had it before." Tesla shudders and pulls himself away from his work. "We all did, except James. Later, when the preventative qualities of quinine were fully established, I wanted to blame his insistence on several gin and tonics for breakfast for his immunity but he claims he just isn't as appealing to the mosquitos as we others."

"When was that?"

"Back in the good old days when my genius was truly appreciated."

Will grabs a blood drawing kit and waits for Tesla to finish.

"1876, I believe. In spring. It was terribly wet you know."

"So it could be a relapse?"

"Anything's possible, William."

"Thanks."

Magnus hasn't moved. Her head is still firmly in her hands and she looks worse. There's a slight tremor in her left hand.

"I'll need your arm."

"Will?"

He lays her arm down, rubbing the crook of her elbow to encourage the vein.

"I'm here, Boss."

"If it is malaria, the last time I was affected, I was extremely ill."

"More than a century ago. We can cure it now, modern technology and all that."

She lifts her eyes, meeting his. There's fear in her face. He's only seen that a few times, and perhaps it's her illness that's damaging her emotional control.

"I nearly died."

"I'll keep that in mind."

He turns his attention to her arm and the vein. Filling two vials, he wraps them up carefully. Magnus' eyes are still fixed on his face and he's wholly unaccustomed to her looking for support. He pats her shoulder; it's also damp and the skin beneath her shirt slick with sweat.

"Hey, you're fine. I have a genius in the lab."

Her smile is forced, but she makes the attempt. "All right."

Will takes half a step in before Tesla puts out his hand for the vials.

"I'll do the science, you scurry back and do the nursing. You're better cut out for that, William."

"Be careful. It might not be-"

"Yes, yes, science is inherently full of danger." Tesla stares at him. "Are you waiting to be dismissed, concubine?"

Will puts up his hands, admitting defeat. "Thanks."

"Your feeble gratitude is unnecessary, though, entirely deserved."

That far too white smile flashes towards Will and he retreats. He collects hot water from the fire, carefully adding tea to one of the flasks. He's never seen Magnus refuse tea, no matter the situation, so he'll need it now. Henry and Kate have returned and they watch him.

"Magnus is sick."

Henry nods, and Kate rolls her eyes before reaching into her jeans for a wad of the local currency.

"Choke on it, smell-o-scope."

"Will she be all right?"

"Yeah, she'll be fine." Will didn't realise until the words were out how thoroughly unenthusiastic he sounded.

Both of them watch him go and the feel of their eyes on his back makes the responsibility sink in that much deeper. Tesla will decipher something in her blood and arrive with an answer; he has no doubt of that. It's the meantime, in the dark, when Magnus looks at him with uncertainty clouding her eyes, that he has some trouble with.

* * *

"I can undress myself."

Will retreats again, hands up in surrender. "I'll avert my eyes."

Eyes firmly shut, he sits on the floor with a flask of tea warm in his hands. The rustling of Magnus undressing follows, but it's slow, almost tentative.

"Will?"

He lifts his head, eyes still shut.

"I can't." It's half-sigh, half-indignant plea.

"Buttons?"

Her pause draws out. "Hooks."

Hooks? What would she be wearing with hooks. Right. Those always had hooks.

"I'll open my eyes to find you and take it off from the back."

When he looks, she has her head down again, white skin exposed except for the thin band of her bra across her back. He undoes the hooks gently, letting it fall down her shoulders. When Magnus doesn't move, he slides it down for her, looking around for something else to dress her in. He has no idea what Magnus sleeps in, and it must be in one of her trunks.

Her hair is soaked with sweat, lying across her shoulders in dark tendrils. He's seen old pictures, and Will wonders if her hair was still blonde when she encountered malaria the first time. It would be, of course. Does she dye it now? Has it turned dark from the Source blood? He can't ask, but the question floats in the back of his mind.

Turning her head slightly, she points towards the foot of the bed.

"In there, blue-"

He hands her the sheet from her cot, keeping his eyes away while she pulls it up. She moves slowly, as if her limbs are stiff.

Blue pyjamas are folded neatly inside the trunk and he hands the shirt to her. It has buttons down the front and Magnus' fingers tremble when she takes it.

Will knees in front of her, undoing the top few buttons so she can slip it over her head.

Magnus holds it, staring at it as if she doesn't quite know what to do. They sit for a moment, staring at the pyjama top in her hands. There's only a sheet between her breasts and his eyes, and even though she's already seen him naked, he's not the former Victorian lady.

Eyes closed again, he clumsily guides it over her head. Modesty forgotten out of necessity, he guides her feet from her boots, then removes her trousers as she lies back. There's far more skin than he ever imagined seeing, but these aren't the circumstances to leer.

He's never seen malaria before. Tesla assures him that's what it is, he ran the test twice, and Magnus would agree, but she fades as the night wears on. There's little he can do for her. Their medical kits have antiobiotics and standard mefloquine, but she was taking that already.

Tesla shrugs, standing in the doorway of the tent and watching Magnus with sympathy. He rests his chin on his fist.

"Must be a resistant strain."

They share a look. It's three days walk back to a road, and most of a day's journey by jeep to an airstrip. There's a chance of a seaplane rescue, but that would also require carrying Magnus through the jungle, and in her condition, it'll be a brutal hike.

"Do we have anything else?"

"Chloroquine, but that's nearly the same thing. I doubt it'll work. It's possible that the plasmodium has bonded with the Source blood in her bloodstream, or mutated in the century since she last had any symptoms. It could be a new infection. You have me working in a tent, William, I'm not sure what you expected. Keep her hydrated, try to keep her fever down, and when it lets up, we'll walk her out of here."

He nods, only half-listening. She should be able to fight it off, as long as there's no secondary infection, she's in no real danger. As much as he tells himself that, Will's having trouble believing it in his heart. She looks small, faded to the colour of her sheets.

"How did you treat it last time?"

Tesla drops his hand, his mind working far faster than Will's.

"Back in the good old days?"

Will kneels down next to Magnus, brushing her face with a towel.

"When men were men and Oxford was the centre of the intellectual universe."

"Cute."

Tesla ignores him as he thinks. That's fairly normal, even a good sign. He holds up his hand, thinking about something, then walks away. That's also a good sign, and having Tesla on the case, puts it safely out of Will's hands.

He falls asleep somewhere before dawn. The floor of the tent is little more than canvas over dirt, and he'll be stiff from more than sleep deprivation, but he can't leave her. There's not enough room for another cot. Kate brings him food, and more tea, which he has to let cool before he can trust it with Magnus.

"Hank and Dracula seem to have some kind of plan. They're out looking for a tree."

"A tree?"

He'd wait for more of an answer, but Magnus shifts behind him and he turns his attention back to her. Fever dreams are always scattered, and Magnus has several lifetimes worth of memories to incorporate into them. Will drifts between being her father, John and James. James is the most common, and he's seen the resemblance occasionally. She seems to need James, and she's most coherent when she thinks he's the late Doctor Watson.

Will can't bring himself to care too much who she thinks he is. She takes comfort from his hand, even holding it close to her chest.

He can't take that from her, no matter who he might be to her. He's not too proud for that. He knows his place. He's the concubine. Will winces at the word, and rolls his eyes, but it fits in a way other things don't. He doubts West ever read Frank Herbert, he can't put anything past Tesla, and yeah, if he told Henry, he'd probably die laughing, but when the long miniseries of 'Dune' and 'Children of Dune' rotated through on the sci fi channel last week, he may have looked up a few times when Jessica Atreides was on the screen. Not that she's a beautiful, powerful woman and the actress who plays might have been his type, especially in the sequel. He has a thing for women with that kind of charisma but she speaks to him because she too was a concubine. Never husband to her Duke, but loyal to him and his house to the end of her days.

Magnus has had the great love of her life, and she's had lovers since. She'll probably have lovers after Will's passed on his responsibilities and been pastured, if he's lucky to live that long. He's not a husband, not even a lover, but he belongs to her. What throws him is that he doesn't even need her to know.

He's been terrible at relationships his whole life. He can't trust, people are always leaving him, he's never had a family. Not until now. Now there's Henry and Kate, the Big Guy, and hell, even Tesla and Druitt: he loves them in the tolerant way that only happens with family.

Magnus he simply loves. He had his stages, awestruck and crush, and the part where she was so far out of his league that she was a Jules Verne distance away. Now she's real, so much more than his boss, and somehow so much more intimate than his lovers.

How he ended up with her head in his lap when Tesla arrives with his miracle is a little beyond him. Will wanted to keep her steady, stop the convulsions that accompany the damn fever, and keep her safe. She's still wet with perspiration, and even if this works, it'll be several days before she's on her feet.

"Well, looks like you're moving up in the world, William."

Tesla holds himself apart slightly, impeccably groomed, even in the rainforest.

Both of he and Magnus must smell of sweat and Will hasn't shaved.

"Did you-"

"Save the day?"

Tesla nods, holding out a bright red egg, just bigger than a pear, with the top open.

"Yes, I think I've done just that. What, you may ask, is this? My miracle cure for last centuries dormant plasmodium? Chichona bark, dried and powdered, and a unfertilised quezacotl egg. The amniotic fluid has antibacterial properties that should prevent secondary infection, and raw chichona back might just have the right quantities of quinine to knock the bug back into dormancy. James used tree bark back then, I just needed to be sparked in the right direction."

Will extends a hand and Tesla deposits his cure into it.

"Don't drop it, getting an unfertilised egg is extremely difficult and it's probably best if you get her to drink the whole thing."

How he's going to get his fully delirious boss to drink an egg mixed with tree bark is not one of Will's most difficult missions, but it's pushing the top ten.

"Tell her it's for the Queen ,or the King depending on how delirious she is, that usually works."

"Thanks."

"Wonderboy found the tree, and Freelancer managed to convince the quezacotl to part with one precious eggs. Of course, it was all my idea."

"I'll tell Magnus."

Tesla's eyes soften, sympathetic once again. "Do be careful. As dubious as some of her grand ideas may be, she has a lovely wine cellar and I doubt you could do so well."

He returns Tesla's smile feebly. "Right. No pressure."

Should he talk to her? Try to ease her conscious? He's had reasonably good luck with getting her to drink tea, but that's easily replaced and far less difficult than the pinkish goo inside the egg shell.

"Magnus."

She stiffens, turning her face from him. With her head in his lap, there's no far for her to go, but she's restless. It's more delirium than convulsions, and he spends a moment on gratitude.

"Helen."

That has more of an effect. She mumbles, which is ahead of turning away and well ahead of when she tries to slap him away.

"Helen, I need you to drink this."

"John?"

Her fiancee, the father of her child, a man who still has a good heart, somewhere, beneath the Ripper's black cloak and the parasite that made him. Will can't be John.

"He's not here."

Helen accepts this and tries to look up at him. "Father?"

"I need you to drink this."

Perhaps being her father will work. Gregory shouldn't mind.

He looses her again, and she nearly sits up, looking for something.

"Please, drink this."

Unwilling to risk the whole egg, Will decants it a little at a time into her tea cup. When he gets it to her pale lips, she frowns, trying to pull away.

"I don't like my eggs this soft, you should know that."

"It's medicinal."

She's flat against his chest now, pressed against him hard enough that his back will ache tomorrow, along with the rest of him.

"Please."

He's had the most luck with that. Even burning with fever, Helen is unfailingly polite.

"You need to drink this."

Her body shudders slightly as she swallows. Helen frowns, coughing.

"Bitter."

Could he put sugar in it? Is there any within reach? Would it matter? She might not even know what she's tasting.

Another swallow in the cup, and he coaxes that down too.

"This will make you feel better."

"You only say that about the dreadful tasting things. Nothing that tastes anything short of vile is ever useful, is it?"

Will suspects he's become James again, even possibly Nigel, but he gets two swallows down before she tries to sit up.

"Helen, don't. Stay here."

The fact that she lacks the strength to sit up on her own, let alone stand, means nothing to her.

"Why?"

"Because I need you."

Simple, but it works. She looks at him, turning on the cot to get a look at his face.

She allows him to feed her another gulp of the egg before she reaches for his cheek.

"I know you."

"Yes."

Helen slumps, returning to his chest as if the act of recognition is too much in her condition. She knows him, and that's enough. It doesn't matter who he is, she seems content for the moment to be safe. The contents of the egg is a long exchange. Will bargains with stories, with snatches of half-remembered songs. Helen's not going to recognise _Snow Patrol_, even if they are British, and his scattered retelling of what happened the last time he had a movie night with the Big Guy distracts her more than it holds her interest. His voice seems to be enough, no matter who she thinks him to be, she is willing to listen to him.

Getting the egg and bark mixture into her takes the better part of the morning, and the sun gives way to a heavy afternoon rain. It rattles down on the tent, burying the sounds of her breathing and the whimpers that escape her dreams.

Will leaves for a moment, burying his guilt at needing to stretch, eat and use the toilet. He's soaked to the skin when he returns to her. Kate's been watching her, sitting in the chair Will gave up long ago.

"I forget she can be like this, like us."

Helen appears invulnerable to them all, even superhuman.

Kate's dark eyes challenge him.

"It took us most of a day to find that damn tree for the Count, make sure it works."

He pats her shoulder, wishing he had more to say before Kate walks out into the storm. Will removes his sodden t-shirt and hangs it in the middle of the tent. Even with the rain, the air is stifling. He takes the chair, watching Helen sleep until he falls asleep himself. Sleeping sitting up is something he's always been good at.

When he wakes the sky is dark outside, whether it's night or not is obscured by the rain. He's still warm, but Helen's curled in a ball. Her fever's gone but she's chilled, too cold to maintain her body heat. She's quiet, her jaw tight. He would have slept through, but her hand's on his knee.

While wrapping her in the blanket, he ends up in the cot with her. Perhaps it's because he's exhausted enough that it seems like a good idea, or it's the way she clings to him, desperate for the warmth of his body. Somehow he makes it into bed, shirtless and wrapped around her. She quiets, relaxing against him, or some memory of another man she once lay in bed with. He can't be too picky, because he's so grateful to have her sleep.

* * *

Night comes and settles in. They shift, first side by side, and then him on his back with her head on his chest. It's almost too warm for him but her skin is cool and clammy. She needs his heat. It's more peaceful than the previous night, and when the walls of the tent go grey in the morning, he doesn't hate the birds for warbling. He sleeps through the dawn, and when he wakes all the way through the half-remembered between, she's toying with his chest.

It's not a fevered, desperate motion, but something thoughtful.

He starts to sit up, ready to apologise and pull away but she keeps him down.

"It's all right, Will."

So he stays.


End file.
